Moist morning dew, I river bathe aloof
Rushing water filters out my youth
Wilted skin sheds, falls to fish as food
Old parts always have their use
Cleansing waters and reflective banks
Currents carry away yesterday
Older now, baptized anew

The world is words so seldom heard
Cries for help ignored, misspelled
Silent screams from those in need
Dying pleas can not be gleaned from mute TVs
Opulence by any means
Poverty penned as the new disease
Truth, the circus freak
Meager, meek, sad is weak
Rinse, Repeat
All that history speaks
Unheard echo
Beneath the flesh and bone
An unread poem

I have never had much luck with love. Explanations only skim the surface of the sea. Always caught up on the hooks at the end of your line.

You tug on the spool and play with your food. Just reel me in. A wish on a dandelion, I get blown to the wind.

Piglet and Pooh, sweet is the honey we are destined to lose. I send kisses through the door you scream at me through.

Flourish and wither like the wrinkled crease down the heart of our family picture. Dice with the devil, cee-lo with evil. Paranoia through the peephole. High on her ego.

I can not help when I wake up with you on my mind
As if my eyes, had wandered off into the past

I know it’s over, but the more I see
The less I can claim to know

Inside my heart there are footprints
Artifacts of my wandering gypsy soul (sole)

My thoughts conjure up an image of your lips, but
I taste only that in which I miss

Only loneliness lingers on a phantom kiss
Calloused hands made of stone

Carved to reach out, but
No innate strength to hold them closed

I don’t know who I would be, without the darker side of my personality.

The painted desert of night allows me to explore the eternal moonlit forest of my life.

The beating compass of my heart, points in no particular direction.

I pace my steps on its rhythm, though the deeper I venture, the less I can rely on its repetition.

Neatly trimmed hedges devolve into bogs, witches to the west, sirens sing to me through the midnight fog.

The road less traveled stained with blood, a path beaten with hurried footsteps and battered love.

I take to the tress; beneath the wind-strained leaves, the monsters are now stalked by me.

Demons by day evade my pleas. Now, stuck in a dream, they can’t leave.

Sometimes I forget to breath
A nagging voice, gnawing at my sleeve
My demons,
          at the gates they seethe
Begging for me to set them free
Darkness beckons me,
           with its ecstasy
Clawing from the inside, but
Outside I crack and wither
Like these scars are all that’s left of me

Picture perfect portrait of paranoia
Sunken eyes
My inner voice has distorted
Causing me to toss and turn,
and become contorted
Foreign is my reflection
The Dark Man has trapped me
With his apathy
I let him in
Depression wins